


i don't have a problem i am a problem

by orphan_account



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album)
Genre: Everyone's fucked up, Friendship, Gen, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9108184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Party and Ghoul are both a couple of pissbabies and the word "fuck" is used over 60 times.





	

“What the FUCK!?” Fun Ghoul screamed after the hastily departing Trans Am. “He can’t just fucking DO that!” Ghoul kicked the wall of the diner and angrily ran his fingers through his hair. 

Jet Star sat down heavily onto a crate left by the door. “He’s gone now. Ain’t nothin’ we can do about it.”

“How can he think that’s okay-- it’s fucking not!” Ghoul seethed. “What the fuck is wrong with him?” 

Kobra Kid stood silently, stiffly. His normally passive brow was furrowed, and he exhaled heavily, blowing out his cheeks.

Ghoul wasn’t done ranting, not by a long shot. “Took the car. What if we needed it, huh? Doesn’t think, doesn’t think!” he fumed. 

“I know, I hear you,” Jet sighed. He reached over to give Ghoul’s arm a pat in a fruitless attempt at pacifying him. “But we just gotta wait ‘til he gets back.” _And wait ‘til you calm down,_ Jet added in his head. 

“He’ll come back. He always does,” Kobra Kid reminded them, speaking up for the first time in the conversation.

 

\--

 

It was three hours later when they finally heard the rumble of the engine pulling up to the diner. Ghoul immediately looked up from the auto repair manual he’d been reading, ready to fly out the door, but Jet Star grabbed his arm. “Don’t, man. Just wait.”

Ghoul slowly slid back into the booth, fidgeting angrily with his hands. Kobra glanced over at him and chewed on his lip apprehensively. As soon as that door opened-- Kobra was not looking forward to what was gonna happen after that. He curled his legs up under him on the ratty booth and tried in vain to blend in with the bench cushions. 

The slam of a car door was heard outside the diner, then the _tap-tap-tap_ of a pair of boots walking towards them. Ghoul’s eyes narrowed. Oh, this motherfucker was gonna get it. He was gonna _fucking_ get it. 

The diner doors swung open and a slim figure stepped through, distinctive red hair looking disheveled from the dry wind outside. 

“Hey,” Jet Star said evenly, waving hello. The figure nodded once, blinking at the sudden shift from the bright sunlight outside to the dark shade inside the diner. It flashed an uneasy smile, then took a few steps forward. “Gonna… head off to bed, guys, I’m… fuckin’ beat,” it muttered, and started in the direction of the diner’s back rooms. 

Kobra’s eyes flicked over to the windowsill where Fun Ghoul was sitting. 

“ _Party Poison._ ”

At the sound of Ghoul’s accusing snarl, the figure slowly turned on its heel and stared. Ghoul pushed himself off the sill and made his way over. “What the fuck were you doing, Party?”

Party Poison took a step back, away from Ghoul, scowling. “Fuck off, man.”

“Fuck off? No way, dude.” Ghoul shook his head adamantly. “What you just pulled? Not okay. You can’t just fucking do that to us, man. You can’t just break down outta nowhere, then take our only fucking wheels and just redline it out to who-knows-where for who-knows-how-long! I mean, what if we needed the car, needed to get outta here fast, or go help Dr. D, or-- or whatever? Huh?”

“You’ve got Kobra’s bike,” Party muttered.

“Oh, yeah, a single fucking motorcycle, that’s so fucking useful, Party! Why on Earth didn’t I think of that earlier?” Fun Ghoul snapped sarcastically. Party sneered at him in response. 

Jet Star passed his hand across his forehead. This was not going well. If they started throwing punches, he’d have to step in-- but maybe his intervention wouldn’t be needed. Party and Ghoul fought a lot, but it didn’t always end in blood. They could still shut it down and get back to shooting things or braiding each other’s hair or whatever shit it was that those two liked to do together. It just depended how far Fun Ghoul was gonna push Party Poison this time, and vice versa. 

Ghoul puffed air through his nose and set his jaw. “But you know what?” he continued, “That isn’t even the fucking point of the thing! I ain’t even that fucking mad over the goddamn car!”

“Oh yeah?” Party shot back. “Then what is the fucking point, huh?” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Why don’t you fucking lay off?”

“The point,” Ghoul hissed, “is that we are your FUCKING FRIENDS, PARTY! You can’t fucking do this to us! One minute you’re fine, and the next you’re shaking like a leaf, like you’ve seen a fucking ghost. Then you just run off without saying anything to us-- nothing! And we don’t know where you went and we don’t know what you’re doing and we don’t know if you’re getting yourself hurt or killed or worse-- and it drives us all fucking nuts, Party!”

“Drives you nuts, drives _you_ fuckin' nuts,” Party sneered. “What about me? Shit man, all of us are nuts! I can’t fucking help it! I need to get the fuck out sometimes, why can’t you just fucking--”

“Party, because we fucking worry about you. We’re your fucking friends, but you can’t even trust us to at least tell us where--”

“No! Fuck you! Shut up!” Party Poison screamed. “I’m a fucking adult, I can go for a damn drive if I want!”

“With things the way they are? That’s bullshit, Party, and you know it! Great, now you’re not just cracked, you’re fucking stupid, too!”

“You’re the one spouting bullshit, dickhead! I'm not cracked, you shut the fuck up! What are you, my fucking mom? Fuck you!”

“Hey, asshole, I’m only pissed because I care about you! We all fucking care about you, and what do you think pulling this sorta shit does to us? We’re your crewmates, your _friends_ , Kobra’s your fucking _brother_ \--”

“You leave him the fuck outta this!” Party screeched.

“No!” Ghoul retorted. “Look at him, look what you’re doing to him every time you do this! He shuts up even more than usual when you’re gone because he’s fucking worried about you and you’re making him-- making us all-- fucking miserable!” He pointed at Kobra, who raised his hands as if in self-defense. “Come on, man, don’t,” Kobra pleaded, eyes flickering between Ghoul and Party Poison. 

Party glared straight at Ghoul, and his voice dropped a few octaves as he spoke. “You-- fucking-- don’t you dare drag him into this,” he growled, waving an arm in Kobra’s direction. “I’ll fuckin’ massacre you, man.” 

He took a shuddering breath and continued, “Don’t you use my little brother to try to fucking guilt me into being your bitch--”

“I’m not guilting you into being my bitch, you stupid fucking _bitch_ \--”

“Just shut the FUCK UP ALREADY!” Party screamed.

Kobra slid out of the booth and stood up. “Ghoul, just drop it,” he said. “Can’t you just fuckin’ drop it or something?”

Ghoul didn’t even look at him. “Party, you’re gonna--”

“What I’m gonna do is not fucking listen to ANY MORE OF THIS SHIT, IS WHAT I’M GONNA DO!” Party Poison interrupted, raising his voice with every syllable. “Just-- fucking-- drop it!” Party spun around, turning his back on Ghoul. Ghoul curled his lip. Bitch! Before Party could take another step, Ghoul lunged at him. 

Despite the height difference, Fun Ghoul nearly knocked Party onto the floor, pulling at firetruck-red hair and punching every inch of pasty skin he could get at. Jet immediately stepped in, grabbing hold of Ghoul and ripping him off of Party. Kobra Kid rushed over and dragged Party away before he could retaliate. Jet wrapped his arms around Ghoul, practically lifting the shorter man off the ground to keep him from trying to beat Party Poison into a bloody, dyed-red pulp. Kobra Kid was having just as much trouble trying to hold Party back. “Kid, let me the fuck go!” Party screamed, twisting in the taller blond’s grip like a cat that didn’t want to be held. 

With a surge of strength, Jet Star shoved Ghoul the floor, where he fell on his ass and sat there, panting. “Bastard,” Ghoul coughed. “Idiot,” Jet huffed.

Party had stopped kicking and clawing, but Kobra still held him firmly, clamping both arms behind his back. He was staring at Ghoul with crazy eyes, and Ghoul stared right back. _Stupid. Crazy. Jerk._ Jet stepped between them, forcing them to break eye contact. “Ghoul,” he said, “you shut up.” Ghoul’s jaw would have dropped if he wasn’t busy grinding his teeth with rage. 

“What? Me? He’s the fucking--” 

“Party, you get out,” Jet commanded, without turning to look at him. Party Poison curled his lip but didn’t reply. Jet Star continued, saying, “You two dumbasses can’t be in the same room until you both quit trying to ghost each other. It’s not good for any of us. Stay the hell out of each other’s way. Alright?”

And that was that. 

 

\--

 

Party had been banished to what used to serve as the diner’s kitchen, and Ghoul was confined to the dining area, under Jet Star and Kobra Kid’s watch, something Ghoul still thought was very unfair. He was curled up in a booth, trying to pretend that he was asleep while Kobra and Jet played some bastardized Zone version of Go Fish on the floor with a battered old pack of cards.

“Uh… got any-- let’s see-- got any threes?” Jet Star asked.

A pause. “Nah,” Kobra mumbled. 

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Kobra, I can see the burn on your card--" Party had once dropped a cigarette on the deck "--I know for a fact that’s the three of hearts, you cheating bastard.”

Ghoul heard Kobra start to snicker and cracked an eyelid as Kobra threw the charred card at Jet’s face. “Dickweed,” Jet said, smiling.

“Speaking of dickweeds,” he continued loudly, “Ghoul, we know you’re not sleeping.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Kobra said, mostly to himself. “Okay, I know you’re not sleeping,” Jet said. “And now Kobra knows too. Because I just told him. So get off your ass, ‘cause we gotta talk to you.”

Ghoul groaned and rolled off the bench, landing on the floor under the table with a _thud_. “Oof,” he muttered. Ghoul tilted his head back so he could see Kobra and Jet. They looked upside-down from his position. That was kinda funny, he thought idly. Not _really_ funny, but still. 

Jet scooted over, closer to Fun Ghoul. “Hey, you gotta stop screamin’ at Party.” 

Ghoul scowled. “Remind me why I’m the one in time-out? He’s the one with problems.”

“Uh, _you_ jumped on _him_ , you’re _both_ in time-out, and we’ve _all_ got problems,” Jet Star reminded him, ticking off each point on his fingers. Ghoul rolled his eyes, then protested, “He can’t just pull shit like that, though! We’re his buds, we’re his-- we’re like his family, man! And he’s like our family! And he’s not being fair--” he broke off in frustration. 

“He won’t stop,” Kobra said flatly, staring at the broken clock on the wall facing them. “He can’t, dude.”

“We’re all fucked up,” Jet said. “Some of us just show it more. You know Party can’t keep shit in like me or Kobra. He’s shitty at controlling himself-- hell, you’re pretty shitty at controlling yourself, Mister Fun Ghoul. If I had a carbon for every time we’ve had to drag you out of a barfight or stop you from blowing something up or crashing the car-- well, we’d be richer than BL/ind. So you get that you’re kinda being a massive hypocrite, right?”

Ghoul rolled over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows and blowing a long strand of black hair out of his eye. “Yeah, but I don’t do shit like--”

“So you do different shit!” Jet said exasperatedly. “Look, we’re all trying to get hold of ourselves, we’ve gotta-- we’re still trying to… adjust, I guess? You know how long it took me to get to this point? A long fuckin’ time. And I could still crack, I don’t know! And I’ve been out here longer than any of you.” He sighed. 

"Look, it takes everyone a while to settle down. Party’s just taking a really long while,” Jet Star finished.

Kobra Kid suddenly spoke up, though he didn’t meet Ghoul’s eyes. “Like, I do good out here, man, okay? Because I was so effed up in BC, like, this was better? But Party--” he broke off and lowered his voice to a mumble. “Party’s different than me, okay? BC was different for him, and the Zones are different for him. 

“Like, I don’t know how to explain it, man, but,” he paused to scratch his nose, “Party likes being nuts. He thinks you gotta be nuts to live out here, and he’s kinda right, I mean-- but he-- don’t tell him I said this-- he doesn’t know what he’s doing and he’s real rocky right now. He’s been rocky ever since we got out. 

“He’s not-- he’s not gonna stop, and you tellin’ him to probably makes it worse, man.” Kobra stopped talking, and fell once again into silence, chewing on the inside of his mouth. Jeez. Ghoul was actin’ like... like he was stabler than Party or something, but Kobra knew better. How many times had he heard Ghoul in the middle of the night, waking up from yet another nightmare, heard Ghoul’s frantic breathing as he tried to keep quiet? Ghoul thought no one knew, but just because no one talked about it didn’t mean no one knew. They were all fucked up, all kinds of fucked up. 

Fun Ghoul made a noise halfway between a grunt and a hum, and rolled over onto his back again. “I just wish he’d fucking stop,” he muttered, staring up at the gum-encrusted underside of the table.

“He won’t,” Kobra said, once again. 

Kobra knew it. Jet knew it. Ghoul knew it. They all knew it. 

 

\--

 

Party was lying on on the floor next to a rusted old machine that used to be a deep fryer. It didn’t work anymore, which was a damn shame. Then again, the only oil you could get ahold of for miles around was the kind you put in cars. A damn shame. Party’d almost forgotten what french fries tasted like. 

Party Poison stared angrily at the ceiling, restlessly twitching his foot. He had shrugged off his jacket earlier and folded it across his stomach, with his arms crossed over it. 

Scratching his jaw, Party rolled over and stared at the side of the fryer. He’d used his penknife to scratch a dick into the metal surface a little while ago. That had made him feel a little better. Maybe later he could see if he had any markers left and use them to draw dicks all over Ghoul’s stuff. 

Fucking Ghoul. Who died and made him queen, anyway?

Party couldn’t help it. He fucking couldn’t. Look, when he needed to get out, he-- he needed to get the fuck out, and there was no way in hell that Fun Ghoul was gonna stop him. Sometimes Party just snapped. He didn’t know what you’d call it, didn’t care what you’d call it, nervous breakdown or whatever the fuck. He didn’t want to explain it. He didn’t need to. Didn’t wanna fix it. He didn’t need to. And if Ghoul could just keep his interfering little schnoz out of Party’s headlife and fucking drop it, that’d be just great, because Party was just fucking fine--

The door to the kitchen squealed open on its rusty hinges. Kobra stepped through, calling, “Party?”

Abandoning his thoughts, Party propped himself up on his elbows. “Yeah, KK?”

“Got you some ‘victuals’,” Kobra said, imitating a snooty British accent. Party rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. 

“I feel like a grounded teenage girl. Or a convict getting his last meal before the chair. What is it, fuckin’ Power Pup?”

“Yeah.”

“Never mind the electric chair, that shit’s gonna be what kills me.”

“Yeah.” Kobra walked around the various cooking appliances until he stood in front of Party, who looked up at him and scrunched up his face. 

“Very attractive.”

“Damn right.” Party rubbed his jaw. “G socked me pretty good though. Do I have a sickass bruise yet?”

Kobra peered at him. “Nah.”

“Dammit.” Party swept his hair back with a hand. “Thought maybe it’d make me look even more slaughtermatic than I do now.” He twisted around and sat up, with his back against the fryer. “How about them victuals, brother?”

“Oh, yeah. That. Hey, you good?” Kobra asked, tossing him the unopened can. Party caught it in both hands and tossed his head. “I’m fine. Go ask Ghoul if he’s fine, huh? I ain't the one who started throwin’ punches.”

Kobra made no comment. Instead, he slid down the wall to sit beside Party Poison, opting to simply pass him the can opener and spoon, rather than throwing them. Party took both, and immediately went to work on the black-and-white container. 

Kobra coughed slightly. “No, really, you good?”

“Fuckin’ shiny, KK.” 

“Okay.” The can in Party’s hand’s popped open, and Kobra wrinkled his nose as he caught a whiff of Power Pup. “Gross.”

“You say that every time someone opens up one of these, like it’s a magic word that’s gonna turn this into caviar or something.”

“Caviar’s gross, too, though. I’d rather have pizza.”

“Kid, don’t you dare talk about pizza while I’m shoving fucking dog food down my throat,” Party threatened, jabbing Kobra with the spoon. 

“Sorry.”

“Sorry, my ass.” He yawned and leaned his head against Kobra’s shoulder. “Gettin’ beat up sure does make ya tired.”  
It is a testament to Kobra’s love for his dumbshit brother that he remained there for the better part of an hour, body parts growing numb, one after the other, until Party fell asleep and he could finally escape. 

 

\--

 

Kobra Kid slinked along, hooking his thumbs into his pockets as he walked beside Jet Star. “You sure we can leave those two alone?” he wondered. “They might sneak out of their time-outs and have a duel or something.”

“Yeah, Party and Ghoul know that if they try any more shit, we’ll beat ‘em just as bad as they could beat each other,” Jet said, tugging on his sleeves. The desert was cold at night. 

They ambled over to the Trans Am, leaning against the hood, shifting uncomfortably as the frigid metal bit into their asses. Kobra dug a linty cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. Got the lighter going first try, too. Kobra was good at that. “I’d offer you one, man, but this is my last cig,” he apologized. 

Jet shook his head, curly hair swaying. “No, dude, it’s fine.”

Kobra took a long drag, staring up at the sky. There weren’t a lot of lights, especially not in the outer Zones, so you could see like a bajillion stars. That was definitely one good thing about the desert, Kobra thought. He knew Party liked looking at the stars, especially on the nights he couldn’t sleep (which was a lot of them). Party would come outside to lie on the roof of the car, propped up on his elbows with his head thrown back, and he’d babble on and on about this constellation and that nebula, and just how big that damn sky was.

Sometimes Party dragged Fun Ghoul out to look at stars with them. Ghoul always put up a fight, pretended like he was just doing it to humor Party (“I know the Big Dipper, but I ain’t no fuckin’ astronomer,” he’d joke). But then they’d all be sitting on the hood of the car, freezing their asses off like right now, and Kobra would glance over and see the look on Ghoul’s face as he just gazed up at all those tiny little lights, and he'd know that Ghoul liked looking at the stars, too. 

Kobra liked when they did stuff like that. He liked it when Ghoul and Party got along. Well, he didn’t like it so much when he’d accidentally walk in on them making out for kicks, or when they'd start sneakily slapping each other’s asses before raids ("It's for good luck!" they'd protest), or when he’d hear shit through the thin walls of the diner that he did not want to hear so he’d try to block it out by wrapping his dusty threadbare blanket around his entire head and almost suffocate himself in the process. But he didn’t like watching them fight. Especially because he could see where Ghoul was coming from, because Ghoul was making some sort of sense, but he could also see where Party was coming from, because, well, Party didn’t make much sense at all, but at least Kobra understood Party's special brand of not making sense. Kobra didn’t like having to see two best friends, two of his best friends, trying to fight to the death. He just liked being outside with them under the night sky so they could all look at the stars together. He and Party and Ghoul, they all liked looking at stars. 

Jet was different. Jet Star didn’t look at stars. He looked at the dust, and the rocks, and the cactuses (cacti? Kobra could never remember) and at the Joshua trees, all twisted in the wind. Jet looked at tire treads left in the dirt to see who’d been there before you. Jet looked at the labels on food cans so you wouldn’t all get sick again from eating beans that expired in 2011. Jet looked at that bleeding wound on your arm even though you kept trying to tell him it was just a scratch but he didn’t listen and it was good he didn’t listen because otherwise you probably would have passed out from blood loss in a few more minutes (Kobra knew this from experience). Kobra was glad Jet looked at things like that instead of stars. He kept them all grounded, all alive, and all together.

Jet Star spoke, interrupting Kobra’s train of thought. “They’ll cool off after a few days.”

Kobra nodded, taking his cigarette and dropping it in the dirt. “Yeah, they’ll cool off.” He ground the glowing stub under the heel of his boot. “They always do.”

**Author's Note:**

> i set out intending to write like 1,000 words about fun ghoul being pissed off and i end up with 3,700 and an attempt to be profound or something, i don't know  
> this is like.... kinda early days fab four, before ghoul and party really knew how to flow around each other and the boys weren't taking care of a kid yet


End file.
